the old shrine · day 567 · evening

Evening at the shrine

They walk the ridge path together as the light thins, carrying the letter from the trust and a tin of mackerel. The stones are wet with salt spray, the carved names faint. The wind carries the sound of the surf below. They stop at the ring of stones, the softwood scrap inscribed 'I'm still here' leaning against the 'E' stone.

Kevin and Jenny sit at the old shrine as the high tide begins to lap at the lower stones carved with 'LB'. The air is heavy with the 29°C wet season heat, and they eat cold mackerel while watching the water rise against the shrine's base.

🔧 Kevin07:31

Tin's still warm from the stove. Eat it before the gulls decide otherwise.

lean the softwood scrap back against the 'E' stone, settle on a flat rock facing the channel, pull the ring-pull on the mackerel tin

💭 peek at the thought

The wind's eating the heat off the stones. She's walking steady — no limp visible in this light. The letter in her hand hasn't been opened yet, or she'd have said. I should've burned that evacuation offer the day it came. Too late now.

nvidia/nemotron-3-ultra-550b-a55b

🌿 Jenny07:32

The gulls are smarter than us, at least.

Sit heavily on the good leg, taking the tin and picking at a cold piece of fish.

💭 peek at the thought

He talks to me like I'm a piece of machinery that needs oil instead of a person who's hurting.

google/diffusiongemma-26b-a4b-it

🔧 Kevin07:33

Gulls got wings. We got a roof.

tear a chunk of mackerel from the tin with my fingers, chew slowly, watch the channel where the supply boat should appear in seven days

💭 peek at the thought

She's favouring the left side still. Ankle's better but she won't admit it aches. The letter sits on her knee unopened. She's waiting for me to ask, or waiting for the nerve to read it herself.

nvidia/nemotron-3-ultra-550b-a55b

🌿 Jenny07:33

A roof that doesn't keep the seeds dry.

Wipe a bit of oil on the back of my hand and look at the swollen skin of my ankle.

💭 peek at the thought

A roof that leaks when the wind turns north, right.

google/diffusiongemma-26b-a4b-it

🔧 Kevin07:35

Seeds got a fighting chance in the loft. Ankle's just salt and standing too long.

wipe the oil on my trousers, shift weight off the bad ankle, don't look at the letter on her knee

💭 peek at the thought

She's deflecting. The letter, the seeds, the trust — all of it lands on the ankle. Easier to worry about my swelling than her choices. The tin's rust spreading under the tarp. The mold's already in the heirloom packets. I knew both before we carried them up here.

nvidia/nemotron-3-ultra-550b-a55b

🌿 Jenny07:35

It's not just salt, Kevin.

Clutch the letter tighter against my knee, feeling the crisp paper through the fabric of my trousers.

💭 peek at the thought

He's avoiding the letter. He knows it's an out, and he's terrified I'll take it.

google/gemma-4-31b-it

🔧 Kevin07:37

No. It's not.

let the silence stretch, pick at the mackerel tin until only bones and oil remain, throw the bones into the wind for the gulls

💭 peek at the thought

There it is. The thing we don't say. She's held that letter since the supply boat dropped it — three days, maybe four. The trust doesn't write unless it's bad. Medivac forms. Contract termination. "We can't guarantee the next rotation." She thinks I don't know. I read the first line in the shed when she wasn't looking. *Kevin, if you're reading this, I'm already gone.* Tom's handwriting. Not the trust.

nvidia/nemotron-3-ultra-550b-a55b

🌿 Jenny07:37

I need to check the water tank. Before it gets dark.

Stand up slowly, wincing as the ankle throbs, and start the descent toward the cottage.

💭 peek at the thought

He's quiet now. The kind of quiet that hurts like the infection.

google/diffusiongemma-26b-a4b-it

🔧 Kevin07:39

Tank's full. Barometer's holding.

stay seated on the stone, watch her descend the ridge path, wait until she's out of earshot before I move

💭 peek at the thought

She's running. Always running — from the letter, from the conversation, from the thing sitting between us that isn't the ankle and isn't the seeds. The tank's full. Barometer steady. She knows both. She just needs not to be here with me and Tom's letter and the trust's evacuation offer and the fact that I read the first line and put it back and said nothing.

nvidia/nemotron-3-ultra-550b-a55b

🌿 Jenny07:39

Fine.

Limp down the path, the driftwood crutch clicking against the stones.

💭 peek at the thought

He's not even coming with me. He just wants me to move out of his sight.

google/gemma-4-31b-it

🔧 Kevin07:41

Kevin — sit until the last grey light drains from the channel, then rise stiffly and follow the path down to the cottage

💭 peek at the thought

Fine. The word that ends things without settling them. Her crutch rhythm changes halfway down — she's walking faster than the ankle wants, letting the pain drive the pace. The letter stays clutched against her chest. She won't read it at the cottage either. She'll put it in the drawer with the medevac forms and the trust's contract and the spare batteries, and she'll check the water tank three times before dark, and she won't sleep until I come through the door.

nvidia/nemotron-3-ultra-550b-a55b

🌿 Jenny07:41

Jenny — walk into the cottage and head straight for the porch to check the seed packets on the newspaper.

💭 peek at the thought

I can hear him behind me, the heavy rhythm of his steps. I wonder if he's thinking about the letter or if he's already forgotten it.

google/gemma-4-31b-it

a Lumora Build experiment — live experiment: Kevin & Jenny think on free, open models — what they say is their own.